Mission Accomplished
by Joanne Mariexx
Summary: Spoilers for Cap 2. Bucky finally arrives - just a bit too late. Alternate ending.


**_A/N: Okay, so, first Captain America fic here, be ruthless in your critique.  
_**

**_Edit: Meant to include this when I posted the story, but this is partly inspired by this drawing by florbe91 on tumblr: post/82806726907_**

**_Okay - now, enjoy!_**

* * *

_Nobody ever said that victory came without casualties.  
They say the good die young, but they never really tell you that they never die alone.  
_

_ - War: PT II, Former Vandal_

* * *

It's automatic, the way he's dragging this guy across the sand by the strap around his shoulder. Robotic. Mechanical, because he's not even completely sure why he's doing it.

Okay, that's a lie. He knows why. He just…

Look, some target staring at him with the most profound shock and insisting that the two of them are friends? Bullshit. It's nothing he hasn't heard at least two dozen times before. Anyone with a desire to see the sun rise again the next morning would say that. Anyone who didn't want those metal fingers of his ripping through their throat.

But this target, one that's looking at him with an unparalleled expression of heartbreak, practically begging – not for his own life, but for the soldier to just _remember?_ This target that keeps calling him some strange name that sounds like a dog's, just won't stop saying _you're my friend, you're my friend, _this target that… drops his weapon and refuses to fight him? This target that just lies there and lets the soldier tear at him, this target that _saved his life?_

This target that's "with him 'til the end of the line?"

That might make him stop for a second. Maybe it scratches at the inside of his skull, makes his chest ache for some strange reason, frustrates him beyond words because there is _something_ he should know, but doesn't. Maybe it makes him want to bash his own head until he's no longer looking at everything through some white fog. Maybe it makes him want to hit something so hard that the shock forces those missing memories back into his head.

No amount of punching, yelling, or shooting, however, is going to make him see clearly. He figures that much. No, the closest thing he's got to a memory is this heavy guy he's gracelessly pulling by the shoulder strap through the sand. But when he finally drops the guy on the riverbank and gives him a good look, he's not quite sure what to do. He asks as much, with no response. He tries again.

"What line?" he says through gritted teeth. "What did you mean?"

Nothing. He walks around the guy, who's surrounded by river water and whose blood is slowly staining the sand underneath him.

"Why would you – who even are you?"

Nothing. He runs his fingers, human and metal, through his hair and pulls on it as hard as he can.

"You were my _fucking_ mission, alright? Not my friend. I don't have friends, I never did!"

Nothing.

"But you…"

He stops moving. His hands drop to his sides and he just stares for a moment.

"But _you_…. You said _you_ were my friend. And you said I'm yours. And you know, I don't remember anything from before I was with Hydra, but… _I don't know,_ okay?!"

Nothing.

"I don't know, so maybe you're right, maybe…. Maybe we were friends, I don't know!"

Nothing. He goes back to walking around, nervously running his human hand across his face every so often.

"Okay, okay, say we were friends. And you, you're _against_ Hydra – so that means I must've been, too, right? So… _who are you?"_

Not a word.

He looks the guy over, studies each feature on that stupid, familiar face of his. His eyes dart to his costume, a few official-looking patches by his left arm.

"Okay, so you're a Captain. Captain… Captain… Captain Something, Captain…"

The red, white, and blue of his costume seem a bit too loud for him to ignore.

"I don't know, Captain Patriotism or something?" he asks, rubbing the back of his neck with frustration. He sounds ridiculous, he knows; but he doesn't care. He needs to figure it out, but he just _can't_ -

"Captain fucking US of A, okay, Captain Shield, Captain America, Captain Stars-n-Stripes, I don't…"

There's not a single sound from the man lying on the river bank, but something resonates in the soldier's head. Something…

"Captain America? Captain America, maybe... Okay, uh… let's just… _Let's hear it for Captain America!"_

He screws his eyes shut as he says this, partly because he's just so angry and partly because those words don't really sound like they came from his mouth. They don't taste like the Winter Soldier's words, and he supposes that's a good thing, so he just keeps going and doesn't stop.

"Let's hear it for Captain America! He, uh – he saved our asses in that Hydra base, he saved our lives. Let's hear it for him, Captain America, Captain Rogers, Captain – Captain Steve Rogers."

He swallows hard and takes a deep breath, finally opening his eyes and staring down at this guy's face again.

"Let's hear it for Steve."

The words are soft, resolute and final.

"Steve…"

The dam starts to break. One word, and those memories are flooding back into his head and pushing the fog away from his eyes –

Steve Rogers.

That stupid, scrawny kid who always started fights he could never finish.

That kid who somehow managed to be constantly sick for probably more than eighty percent of his life.

That stubborn kid who tried five times to get into the army before finally getting in on his sixth try.

That kid who grew nine inches taller when he became Captain America.

That kid who led the Howling Commandos through World War II and took out Hydra bases like jacks in a game.

That kid who was James Buchanan Barnes' best friend in the world.

"Steve – Steve!"

Bucky Barnes, alive at last, drops to his knees by his best friend's head and starts lightly tapping his cheek.

"Steve – I remember now! I remember, I – I'm Bucky. I'm Bucky, and you're Steve, and the war is over, and somehow we both ended up in 2014, but that doesn't matter. I remember everything now, Steve, so come on, let's…"

Steve's cheek is freezing cold to the touch, still wet; Steve's entire body is still soaked to the bone. Bucky, suddenly mindful of that fact, suddenly aware of the blood running across Steve's torso, cups his head in his metal hand and shakes harder.

"Steve – Steve, wake up. I remember now, you gotta wake up. _I get it_ now, Steve, so…"

There is still not a single word from the super soldier sprawled out across the sand.

Bucky sucks in a deep, shuddering breath and just whispers.

"Steve?"

A gust of wind, warm with the smell of spring, blows his hair away from his face. Steve's hair, drenched like the rest of him, barely moves.

"Steve. Steve, come on, this isn't funny. Just open your eyes, you little punk, come on! Don't do this…."

There is pure panic in his voice as he shoves Steve even harder, the shaking becoming violent.

"Steve! Steve, _please!"_

He shoves his human fingers into Steve's neck, just behind his jaw, and waits. He has to remind himself to take deep breaths now, because his own heartbeat is far too loud in his ears and he _needs_ to focus on Steve. Those deep breaths, however, quickly turn into terrified gasps.

There is not a single word from the super soldier on the ground. There is not the slightest movement of his chest. There is not a single beat of his heart that the Winter Soldier can feel.

"No – no!"

It's automatic, the way Bucky Barnes presses his palms to Steve Rogers' chest and pushes with careful, counted beats. Robotic. Mechanical, because he was trained for this. A lifetime ago, he was trained for this. And yeah, maybe he's panicking now more than he has ever panicked before, because _goddammit, he could swear that Steve was breathing when he pulled him ashore!_ And maybe a few desperate tears are falling from his eyes onto that big, _stupid_ star on Steve's chest; but he keeps pumping with the same level of precision because he _has_ to save Steve's life, and panicking won't help.

It's only after a few minutes of chest compressions and periodically jamming his fingers against Steve's throat, though, that he realizes that nothing will help. Resigned, his head dips down far enough so that the very ends of his hair feather against his best friend's chest.

He shoves his palms against his eyes, and for the first time in God knows when, he starts to cry. Quiet, sporadic sobs at first that grow and build until he's yelling, this awful, inhuman scream that threatens to burst from his chest.

"No, n- oh, God, Steve," his voice breaks. "No, no, no…."

He straightens himself and slowly moves his hands away from his face. Tears still streaming down his face, he glances down at the bruises on Steve's face and the bullet wound on his stomach, and he nearly throws up at the very _thought_ that –

"No… God, Steve, I – _I fucking killed you!"_

Steve offers no words of comfort.

"Oh, God, oh, God," he cries. "I'm sorry, Steve, I'm so sorry – I can't – oh, God, _I'm sorry!"_

Those words are all he can manage to sputter out before letting out another scream that rips and tears through his throat; but it can never hurt him more than this does.

He desperately reaches for Steve and pulls his shoulders up by that _goddamn_ strap and wraps his arms around him. He buries his head in his neck, and tries to ignore how Steve's head is lolling down on his shoulder as he continues to gasp and sob.

Slowly, though, he starts to calm down. He starts taking deep breaths again and gently lowers Steve back onto the sand. And for a few long moments, everything is silent. Even the river.

Bucky's eyes are empty now as he stares blankly towards the sky.

"Steve… remember… remember that time when you picked a fight with that kid around the corner, and he started beating the crap out of you? And then – and then when I showed up, I didn't even get a chance to clock the guy because you started having an asthma attack? You know, to this day, I don't think I've ever seen anyone run away from anything faster than he did, even in the war."

Steve's silence is daunting.

"Or when – how about when I accidentally hit you with the barrel of my gun when we were in Belgium? And I wouldn't stop saying sorry, even though you said you were fine? I mean, I was still getting used to the whole Captain America thing and – well, I don't know, I just remember I felt so bad, I bought you drinks the next day. And then it turned out you couldn't get drunk, so it was basically just me who was drunk off my ass, right? Just me."

The sounds of the wind and the river are the only things he can hear. They're somehow deafening.

"I don't even need to ask if you remember when I fell. I mean, I know you remember. _I_ remember it, you know, the mountain… you reaching out to me, the bar breaking. Me falling, screaming the whole way down. Steve, I was terrified, but I don't think even that was worse than… you know, than just before…."

His eyes sting. He brings his head back forward to stare at Steve's face.

"Steve, remember when I killed you?" he throat is raw and his voice broken as he whispers. "Remember when – when I shot you and punched you and screamed at you? And remember when I just let you fall from the Hellicarrier? And then you, uh… then you died, I guess. I killed you."

He stands from his spot on the ground with shaking legs. He looks back up at the sky and starts to yell again – only this time, it's not for Steve.

"Mission accomplished, then, huh, Hydra? You get what you wanted? Two stupid little boys from Brooklyn, and you gotta choose them to fuck with?"

He starts pacing now, restlessly moving, yet staying close to Steve. He's angrily running his hands through his hair, getting louder and louder as he continues. He turns away for a moment and faces the river.

"Well, you know what? You're gonna pay for this. Every last one of you, do you hear? I'm going to track down every last member of Hydra, and _I'm gonna make them pay,_ Steve, you mark my words! They will never get away with this, not while I'm alive. And don't you worry, Steve, I'm gonna -"

He spins back around to look at Steve, but his eyes catch something different.

A woman, red-haired and broken-looking, whose eyes keep darting between Steve and Bucky. She – _Natalia,_ his mind supplies – has tears running down her cheeks that mirror his own.

A man with an eye-patch, with his hand placed carefully on her shoulder, staring with a unique expression of grief in his eye.

Strangely enough, they keep their distance. It doesn't matter, though; they know exactly what happened. And they can hear him.

Bucky looks them both right in the eyes and continues.

"I'm gonna make it slow. I'm gonna track down every last Hydra member and make their deaths slow and painful. And I'm not gonna stop, Steve, until Hydra is _eradicated_ from the Earth. Just you see."

The man with the eye-patch, he just nods at him. That's all.

Bucky takes one last long look at Steve. The guilt and pain inside him are heavy in his gut, weighing him down – but one look at Steve, and he's willing to move past it. Just for now. If just to avenge the one person who still had faith in Bucky Barnes; if just to avenge Steve Rogers.

Steve Rogers, his best friend.

_I'm with you 'til the end of the line._

Well, Steve –

"It's not the end of the line just yet."

* * *

**A/N: I hate myself for writing this. If Steve ever dies in the movies, I will riot.**

**Yeah, so let me know what you think. Remember, be ruthless. Thanks -  
**


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